


Hey Youngblood

by westandvigilant



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:16:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6649741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/westandvigilant/pseuds/westandvigilant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>sometimes justice is on the wrong side of the law - based on fall out boy’s phoenix</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Youngblood

_put on your warpaint_

She wears a ratty black scarf that is far too long for her own good. It stays looped around her cheeks comfortably, obscuring most of her sun weathered face. She might be able to get by without it. People often have trouble recognizing a shadow.

He wears a red bandana. It’s pulled tight over his nose and mouth, but his voice still rings as clear as day. The black cowboy hat that he pulls low over his brow doesn’t manage to fool anyone either.

One look in those dark blue eyes and they know.

They know exactly who he is.

* * *

 

 

_strike a match and i’ll burn you to the ground_

Because the only thing that moves faster than wildfire across the dead grass is gossip.

* * *

 

 

_here comes the rising tide so come on_

They know about when the time for pretending had stopped.

When whispers of unrest turned into the screams of the revolt.

When it was time to stop pretending that the world was ever going to be the same. When it was time for the Presidency to stop being passed from father to son because of some paranoid state of catastrophe.

The Catastrophe was 100 years gone and nobody was coming round to bring them back to civilization.

That time had passed.

* * *

 

_so we can take the world back from the heart-attacked  
one maniac at a time we will take it back_

But when those rich school boys denounced their places in the Society and threw up a barricade outside the Center in the name of freedom, the people couldn’t come.

As much as the common folk loved his talk of equality and rights to religion and free education, they couldn’t come when he called. Their champion stood atop that barricade with his brilliant red flag and his glorious words while the Militia salted and scorched the farms of any Township that had let him speak.

Then the Colonel and his Milita came in with their shiny boots and their muscled steeds and razed the barricade with bullets, using semi-automatic weapons that the common folk didn’t even know still existed. 

Innards weren’t displayed outside the Center as a warning. The government didn’t make threats from the Lakes to the Plains to the Desert. The President and his Colonel knew enough to know that erecting a martyr from the ashes would be cause for continuance, a beacon of hope.

And so the Barricade Gang and their beautiful ideas were simply buried six feet deep under hushed tones and pain of death.

* * *

 

_bring home the boys in scraps_

Some folks tried to forget. “He wasn’t even real. More a statue’n a man,” they’d say. “Easy for him to sacrifice, he didn’t love no one better than his own ideals.” 

But those who knew better traded whispers in the dark. 

They swirled about the slip of a shadow that wove in and out of the barricade. A bitty thing who was able to bring herself to the cause. For love of her broken country. 

Or maybe just a handsome rich boy who gave her a smile.

But what’s the difference, really?

So people murmured that some of the boys had survived and were being mended out past the government sanctioned Townships. Out past the clapboard towns thrown up in the rubble. Out in No Man’s Land with the Independents.

But a statue wasn’t going to start this war.

* * *

 

_get hitched make a career out of robbing banks  
because the world is just a teller and we are wearing black_

Rumors turn to flesh when the Shadow and the Statue ride into a southern Township with the remnants of the Barricade Gang plus 20 Independents at their back. The common folk part as they thunder through the Township to the bank. The Sheriff and his Deputies give a nod and walk back into the Jailhouse.

The small bank takes in a collective gasp as the gang files in, calling “hands up!” Everyone complies quite quickly.

He strides up to teller’s window, and uses the barrel of his gun to tip the brim of his hat upwards, revealing his refined brow. ”If you would do the me the great kindness of handing over the contents of that tax collection safe, I would be much obliged.”

At the mention of tax collection, the lone Center representative lunges forward. The little slip of a shadow yells out “Enjolras!” before opening fire on the government lackey. He drops to the floor and Enjolras curses under his red bandana.

“Everyone alright?” he asks, receiving shaky nods in response. “Éponine?”

The kickback from the shotgun throws her back into his chest. She smiles up at him as he gives her shoulder a squeeze and presses something that’s dangerously close to a kiss into her hair.

“My apologies, folks,” he announces as Éponine reloads. The occupants, hands still high, shrug and his words are met with a chorus of “Don’t think on it”, “Not a problem”, and “No one ever liked him much anyway”.

The money is handed over without so much as a hiccup and they storm out of the bank wishing everyone to have a “good day now, you hear?” As per Éponine’s wishes, they lug the satchel full of money at a one roomed school house on the way back into No Man’s Land.

This continues for months. More schools are being raised by the day. Local folks are able to properly outfit their own Peace Fighters. Everyone who sees the gang pretends they don’t. The Colonel and his Milita at their tail makes it necessary to refuse shelter from grateful farmers and sleep under the stars.

But everyone knows they can’t run forever.

* * *

 

_hey youngblood doesn’t it feel like our time is running out_

Tears make tracks in the dirt and soot caked on his face. He carries her out into the crowd, crushing her limp body close to his chest, walking with purpose that belies his desperate eyes.

He gives Éponine over without a sound. Silently and gently, to a pretty blond girl in a hoop skirt. She collapses to the ground with the motionless girl in her arms. Whether it’s for her dead friend or the husband she will never see again is anyone’s guess.

Kneeling, he removes his hat and pulls down the red cloth, laying a trembling kiss on Éponine’s forehead with his uncovered lips. He brushes the dry hair from her face and just holds it for a moment. Like he can see the embers heating the amber of her eyes. Or the dimples that punctuate her lively mouth. 

Enjolras stands, slow and indignant. “She is the first to fall on this day,” he states to the frozen crowd. “Who will it be tomorrow?”

The common folk watch as he turns his heavy stare on the Militia. Daring them with bared, bloodstained teeth to shoot him down that second. Increasingly, strangled cries of “fire” sound out. The Colonel commanding his men to take the Statue down. But they couldn’t.

Not now.

So Enjolras turns in a whirl of dust and strides back into the Hyperion Township’s besieged bank. Everything is silent until the door slams shut and a terrible, wrathful howl echoes throughout the breathless square.

* * *

 

_i’m gonna change you like a remix_

They all watch silent, seething, waiting, as the Colonel burns the Hyperion Bank to the ground with such a fervor that the Township is shadowless for two days. The fire itself rages clean down to the Gulf.

* * *

 

 

_then i’ll raise you like a_ _phoenix_

But the only thing that moves faster than wildfire across the dead grass is revolution.


End file.
